


First Word

by KorrohShipper



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Steggy - Freeform, Steggy baby, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 06:30:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20041456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorrohShipper/pseuds/KorrohShipper
Summary: Steve and Peggy compete for their son's first word.





	First Word

**Author's Note:**

> Found another discarded draft from Steggy Week. Here it is.
> 
> It's a bit messy, but enjoy!

“It’s going to be _Dada_. I can feel it.”

Steve cradled their infant son in his arms, slowly lulling the boy asleep as he sat on their bed. Peggy looked up from her book and raised a brow, her lips twitching upwards.

It all started when Steve began piling up on the pregnancy literature when she was expecting, and now that their son began babbling a mouthful of vowels, her husband armed himself with the knowledge of baby books—“_If only I had Google and wikiHow_. . .” —she rolled her eyes at him back then.

_Whatever wikiHow is._

“And what makes you so sure that it won’t be _Mama_, darling?”

The boyish grin he flashed at her tugged at her heart, especially when he gently shrugged and got to his feet and placed James, their five-month-old son, into the confines of his crib.

“Father’s intuition, I guess.” He chortled out as he slowly slid into the covers, leaning to her side to press a kiss on her cheek.

Languidly, the book fell from her hands and into her lap, allowing herself to press into Steve’s side. “Oh, I don’t know, darling. I have a mighty strong feeling that it’s going to be _Mama_,” she shot her husband an innocent look before adding, almost impishly, “Mother’s intuition, I guess.”

* * *

When Peggy came down for a glass of water, she didn’t expect to find her husband plotting behind her back.

“Come on, buddy, say _Dada_—da-da!”

Peggy followed the source of the sound and stifled a bout of laughter and watched behind the kitchen counter, pouring herself a glass of water as Steve, clad with a burp towel and a bowl of what seemed like mashed peas, enunciated his word.

James, with all the seriousness a five-month old could muster, blinked blankly at his father before promptly popping his little, balled-up fist into his mouth and produced a happy gurgling sound.

Steve, with all the relentless positivity akin to a golden retriever, laughed in approval. “Close enough. A for effort.” Her husband cheered as she decided to reappear by his side, tucking herself under his arm.

They took comfort in the setting—their son, safe and healthy in front of them, husband and wife together in peace—before she grinned mischievously and broke the morning silence. “Oh, give it up, darling.”

Steve’s gaze flickered down to her. “Give up what, Peg?”

She gazed at James, who beamed a toothless grin at her, babbling and flailing his stubby arms at the sight of her and her attention directed at him. “Your attempt to win the first word.”

When Peggy turned, she was met with a raised eyebrow followed by two, almost comically slow set of blinks. “Okay, two points.” He held up two fingers. “So, first of all, our son’s first word is not a competition.”

And then, suddenly, the serious and solemn look on Steve’s face was replaced a gleam and a twinkle in his was unmistakably daring her. “And the second?”

“If it was a competition,” he drawled out, “I’d win.”

* * *

“Steve, darling, could you bring James to the bed, please?”

Her husband gave her a warm smile before crossing the distance that separated her from him and their son, who was snuggled into his father’s arms, who had just happily finished a bottle of formula.

Peggy marveled at the sight, of how her son’s small fingers gently curled over the sides of the bottle, how fatherhood suited Steve marvelously, and how even after all these months, the sight of the both of them never failed to warm her heart.

“Hang on a sec,” Steve called out softly before crossing the room, eyes fixed on James with a smile perpetually planted on his face, he gently deposited their son into her outstretched arms. “Here you go, safe in Mama’s arms.”

Steve knelt by her side, his eyes filled with awe as she held their five-month old in her arms. “Yes, _Mama_ missed you, my darling.” She crooned before placing a lingering kiss on James’ forehead.

Switching her gaze for a moment, Peggy adjusted her position on the bed and scooted to make room for Steve, who wrapped an arm around her waist. “You know,” she leaned in conspiratorially to his side, “Chet is beginning to complain.”

A warmer, much more mischievous gleam lit in her husband’s eyes. “Yeah, what’s he complaining about?”

She stifled her laughter and instead relished in the warmth her husband radiated. Free heating, one would assume. “Told me to stop hogging the office’s radiator,” she couldn’t help a bark of laughter when Steve playfully poked her shoulder.

“Hey, now!” he mocked hurt, but it backfired as he erupted into a fit of giggles when she shot him a look.

When the laughter died down, Peggy gave him a knowing look. “But truly, Chet is complaining.” A content smile rested on her lips. “Told me I’m keeping his best tactician away for too long.”

Steve raised a brow at this. “But he’s got you over there.”

Unable to help herself, she rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, I know.” She teased.

“Anyways, you’re not keeping me away from work.” Steve’s eyes flickered down to the now sleeping James, whose lips were parted into a small _o_ that they were both entranced with. “This little one’s got me wrapped around his finger—all because he’s gonna say _Dada_ first.”

Ever a picture of grace and maturity, Peggy stuck her tongue out at her husband. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, Steven, it’s going to be _Mama_.”

* * *

Peggy took quick, shallow, and frantic breaths of air as her eyes scoured the streets. Her heart could beat out of her chest until she saw the familiar mop of blonde in the sea of people.

Never in her life has she been more thankful for Project Rebirth for giving Steve his impressive stature—it made him easier to look for, which in turn helped her calm her heart.

She broke into a sprint and cried out, “Steve!”

Almost immediately, her husband spun around, a nasty looking gash planted on the side of his head that glistened a sickening red as the sun reflected off the wound.

Steve ran towards her, too, and when they met half-way, he took her into his arms and she could feel the worry slowly pour itself out in the open, especially so when a small whimper sounded between them.

Peggy gave a soft, weak protest when Steve pulled away from his embrace, but she found herself covering her mouth to stop herself from crying. James was blinking widely at her, blissfully unaware of the events that had just transpired.

It happened so fast. Just one moment, they were at the pictures, enjoying a film when a loud sound erupted from outside. Steve had just excused himself to change James’ nappy when the entire room broke into a panic.

One moment, she was directed out of the building. The police who had stormed the building were tipped off about a terrorist attack, courtesy of Hydra. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents began accounting for everyone and was just about to bring her to safety when the very block was leveled into a dust cloud and all she could think about was that both her husband and son were nowhere to be found.

A sigh of relief left her as Steve shifted James into her arms. “Oh, you’re both alright,” she shakily whispered, her tone very close to breaking. Steve pulled her into a proper embrace and pressed his body against hers. “You’re alright,” she murmured against his chest, unable to stop the influx of tears.

“We’re alright.” As if on cue, to prove his father wrong, James let out a wail, unwilling to lose the attention he once had.

Peggy couldn’t help a teary bark of laughter. “Oh, alright, young man.” She softly rested her cheek against the tuft of hair that sprung from atop his hair and closed her eyes shut, willing the thoughts that plagued her just a few moments ago. “Mama’s here, my darling.”

There was a soft silence between them, but James still gurgled in protest. Steve scooted in closer, too. “Yeah, _Dada_’s here too.” He breathed out, exhaustion woven into his voice, but ever insisting on the word.

“Cheeky.”

* * *

“I don’t understand.”

Steve stared at the white envelope in his hand, his brows furrowed together in confusion and conflict flickered in his eyes and Peggy felt a weight of guilt grow heavy on her chest as she watched her husband digest the news.

Peggy knew well what was inside the envelope. She had been presiding over the meeting that made the decision, after all. It held a notice, telling him to ship off to Germany for a covert mission to retrieve Nazi scientists on the run and Hydra spies disguised as potential candidates for a new S.H.I.E.L.D. integration project.

“I’m sorry, darling.”

They sat in the dining room, the house silent save for the radio playing the soft instrumental song from over the living area. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Peg.” Steve argued, albeit weakly and clearly unsettled. “I know I have to go back to the field someday. Uncle Sam's not about to let its golden weapon go in storage,” he tried to a lighter tone, but it failed horribly. “It’s just I thought I had more time.”

Peggy reached across the table and rubbed soothing circular patterns unto his palm. “Oh, darling, I know,” she crooned. “But Chet and the boys—” a soft twinkle of recognition sparked in Steve’s eyes at the mention of his tactical squad, the Howling Commandos, “—have a valid point. There is no one more equipped with the terrain and layout of Hydra strongholds in Europe, especially now with Operation Paperclip, it’s imperative we bring them to justice.”

Steve sighed loudly. “No, I know. This is what I signed up for, remember?” the smallest of smiles graced his lips, and for a second, Peggy saw it reached his eyes even if only for a brief moment.

Unable to help herself, she gave him an encouraging nod. “You don’t like bullies.” She reminded him softly.

Dutifully, with a fond look, he shook his head. “No, ma’am, I don’t.” Then, a look of reluctant flashed across his face when a crying sounded from above. “It’s just. . .I realized this would be the first time I’d be away from him.”

Whatever misunderstanding Peggy had of his stand on the mission had melted away as she took his hand and lead them towards their bedroom and to the small crib that held their son, who stirred awake from his nap and cried.

It was Steve, after all, who spent each waking minute by her side during the pregnancy, he who stared down at the nurses when they told him to wait the delivery with Howard. And when her maternity leave ended, Steve was the one who took a step back from S.H.I.E.L.D. to take care of James.

It was also Steve who stayed up during the nights when James was constantly wailing and bothered with colic. Steve who tirelessly took care of her and James with every flu, with every doctor’s appointment and vaccination shots.

It was Steve who refused to let her get up at night and insisted that she rest while he take care of James. It was her husband who carried James to their bed each and every morning, who changed the soiled nappies, who prepared the bottles, who took care of the baths.

Peggy’s heart warmed with the realization and it made the mission all the more difficult to send him away to.

Steve gingerly picked him up and nestled their whimpering son against his chest. “I’ll go and ready a pack for your mission.” She whispered softly and tucked herself away to the walk-in wardrobe and carefully took the necessities he would need for the mission.

Ready to pack the collection of clothes and tactical gear, as well as toiletries— “_Because I won’t let you come home smelling worse than Dugan, Steve_!” —and a few reading materials, Peggy stepped out of the closet only to walk in on a soft exchange between father and son.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve began softly, the whimpering now gone. “I’m going away for a while, only a little while.” A soft gurgle from James earned a warm chuckle from his father. Peggy watched as Steve leaned down to press a kiss on top of James’ nose. “Be a good boy for Mama, okay?”

She made a soft noise, akin to something inside her rib cage melt into a warm puddle when Steve’s face brightened. “Hey, buddy, can you say _Mama_?” there was no response from their son.

Still hanging by the corner, she coughed to clear her throat and to announce her presence. Steve spun to face her and smiled. “Hiya, Peg.”

Sporting a mischievous smile, hoping to further alleviate the mood. “I do hope you’re not trying to snag the first word.” Thankfully, he responded in kind.

“Well, it was worth a shot.” He replied in mock seriousness, but his face broke in to a shameless grin. “Guilty as charged. But I promise you, when I get back, he’ll be saying _Dada_ all around!”

* * *

The drive to the airport was a silent one.

Peggy took to the wheel and kept sneaking glances at her husband and son on the way to the private runway, where a cargo plane was waiting for him to board.

They exchanged a soft kiss, a warm embrace, and a serious promise on his part. “I better not hear you flying another plane, Steven.” She warned playfully, but a hint of seriousness was hidden behind it. It went unsaid but not unnoticed in their little touches that he was to return.

Safe and sound in her arms and back with their family.

So, it was almost endearing when he popped open his compass. The lid now held a small picture of her holding a newborn James. "No more flying." He promised seriously before adding, with a lopsided grin, "I'm going to call for my ride this time, I swear."

She hit him, square in the jaw, but pulled him for one final kiss and a tight embrace. Peggy held James and propped him up at the viewing room to wave goodbye to the plane as it shot off to the sky, well until it disappeared into the distance and the orange-tinted sky.

It was already dark when Peggy and James arrived at home, the usual bustle and ruckus that Steve made in the kitchen trying to prepare some sort of meal wasn’t as perpetually present as she once thought.

The house, save for them, seemed almost empty and lacking. Peggy found herself taking the word in and reflecting on the thought. It was a house, without Steve, because the three of them made it a home.

With a steely resolve, Peggy readied James for sleep—a ritual which included a half-full bottle, a freshly changed nappy, and a lullaby whilst being rocked to sleep.

And when James fell asleep in her arms, his weight and warmth seemingly so familiar like his father’s, the wayward glances she shot the crib were met with a nonchalant shrug and padded her way towards the bed, infant son still in her arms.

It wouldn’t be so terrible, Peggy thought to herself as she set up a lining of pillows by her side of the bed and plopped down on Steve’s side.

“James, darling,” she whispered softly. “Could you say _Dada_ for me?” there was no response, but she was unfazed, determined to let Steve have the first word. “Let’s surprise your father when he gets home, shall we?”


End file.
